An Amusing Tale
by AnabelleG
Summary: A little one-shot about how Brennan found her muse--whether she wanted to admit it or not...


**A/N: Ah, the ficklness of muses! Mine has skeedaddled to parts unknown, leaving me to rummage through my old files for inspiration. This little shot was written some time ago as an homage to said muse—some of you out there may recognize this particular this version of the species—so I found myself tinkering with it in hopes that my own Frankie Lou might return. But enough writer-ramble….here's the slightly aged around the edges story of how Brennan found her muse. Hope you enjoy! -Ana**

A pair of feet rested on the corner of the desk, orange flip-flops hanging from brightly painted toes. The green plastic dragonflies across the straps swayed slightly as the wearer moved her feet back and forth to the rhythm of the song playing in her head.

Suddenly, she sat forward and stared at the computer in front of her. Bright, moss-green eyes stared back at her from the reflection on the dark monitor. She preened, turning first left and then right, admiring what she saw. Puckering her lips, she blew a kiss to the reflection.

"Ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille!" She laughed out loud, delighted with herself. It didn't take long though, before she was bored again.

_Where is she already?!?_

She stood with a huff, slinging the trailing end of her feather boa across her shoulder. As she strode to the door she muttered to herself.

"I knew it was going to be trouble when Harriet matched me with this one. Harry—I tell her—maybe this isn't such a good idea. The muses and the scientists, they just don't mix. Remember what happened to Tinks and that Charlie Darwin fella?"

_But Harry did listen to a word I said…nooooo._

She continued to rant, mocking Harry as she looked out into the lab.

" 'Scientists are writers too and this one needs her muse. Besides, I thought that the great Frankie Lou was capable of handling any writer that we threw at her.'"

_Dang union meetings. Need to learn to keep my mouth shut._

"And how many times have I told her not to call me that. It's Francine Louisa to you, missy. Now where is that woman. Doesn't she know that it's supposed to be the writer in search of a muse—not the other way around?"

She sat down in the doorway with one more sigh of indignation, putting on her snakeskin cowboy boots as she prepared to wait.

xxxx

Francine Louisa perched on the back of the couch, watching the writer as she and her partner argued about…

_I forget…what is that they are arguing about this time? Gawd, I keep losing track._

Taking out her pocket watch, she yawned.

"Lovely as this has been to watch, it's time to write, girlie. Have I got a whopper for you about this guy that has a thing for taking kneecaps as souvenirs."

Francine Louisa stood and patted her beehive, making sure that not a hair was out of place before she walked over to the writer. Waving her hand in front of the woman's face, she began talking in a sing-song voice.

"Woo-hoo, scientist lady. Time to get down to business. We have a story to get going here. Creepy serial killer dude idea is not going to hang around forever."

She put her hand on her hips as the woman continued to talk about why she should be the one to do whatever it was it was that had her is such a tizzy.

"So, still not going to acknowledge that I'm standing right here, hm? Well, we'll just see about that. They don't say that Franki—Francine Louisa is the best there is for nothing."

_Just give me some time to work on it, dearie. Haven't let one of you down yet._

The muse sat on the couch, searching through her bag. With a little squeal of delight she pulled out a box of chocolate covered cherries, a gift from her last writer. Sitting back with a candy in one hand, she let out a nostalgic sigh.

_Now that was one writer that knew how to appreciate her muse!_

She stared hard at the writer now, working up a good old-fashioned stink-eye that had sent many a writer straight to their notebooks. Before it could work though, the man walked in front of her, turning his back as he blocked her view. Which was when Francine Louisa almost choked on her chocolate candy.

"Well, hey there sweet cheeks! Hmm, maybe there are some perks to this job after all if hottie FBI agents are part of the deal."

Leaning back, she made herself comfortable, then popped another candy into her mouth as she continued to stare.

_At least I have a little puzzle to work on while bone-lady over stops talking. FBI. F-inest B-ottom Indeed…no, no, F-abulous B-oot-ay….ooh, boy-howdy, this is gonna be fun._

xxxxx

"Aw, this is so not fun, chickie!. Forms! Muses don't do windows, we don't change diapers— and we don't do paperwork! Where's the blood and guts? Or hey, got an idea— dontcha want to write a nice hot love scene. I have plenty of those ready after watching your Boothie Baby all day. Come on, girlfriend…let's write!"

Francine Louisa twirled around the writer— and having changed into her prized tap shoes, she made an awful racket. She stopped suddenly when she noticed the writer reach for another file folder.

_Oh, mercy, mercy, mercy me. I didn't want to do this, but I can see I'm going to have to drag out the big guns here aren't I? Dang-nabbit, this isn't going to be pretty._

Bending down to look directly in the writer's eyes, Francine Louisa was about to reveal her secret weapon, when someone else walked into the room.

Her green eyes lit up when she noticed the artist.

_Maybe there is hope after all if there was one of them around this place._

Five minutes later, she was holding her head in her hands.

"Tissue depth markers and bloodstain analysis. Oh, Harry baby, you are going to owe me one for this. I need a plan. A nap and a plan."

A push against her shoulder jolted her from her plotting. Startled she looks up to see…

"Jazzy! Sweet pea, what are you going here?" She hugged the pink haired muse in front of her. "You must be here with the artist. It's been ages girlie. Oh, holy Manolo, look at those heels…"

In no time at all, the two were comparing notes on their charges and getting jealous over the other's footwear. However, being the muses that they were, each was quite capable of multi-tasking. Two brightly colored heads turned simultaneously as they cued into what is being said by the two people.

"....not going so well, sweetie? I know your agent is putting a lot of pressure on you for the next draft."

"Actually, Ange, it's almost complete. There's just this one scene with Andy that isn't working. I don't know what's wrong. The words just aren't coming to me like they normally do."

Francine Louise was positively indignant, waving her arms in the air.

"Hel-lo! Muse here. Been here for ages with those words you've been…." She didn't get to complete her sentence as Angela spoke over her.

"Well, Bren, maybe it's time to get in touch of your muse."

Which pleased said muse to no end.

_Finally someone with some sense around here!_

She rushed over to Angela ready to plead for a little help here already, when she heard the words that will tarnish any muse's tiara.

"Angela. Muses? You know there's no such thing as muses."

It was all poor Jazzy could do to keep Francine Louisa from falling right out of her lovely patent leather mules.

xxx

It was near the end of very long day for poor Francine Louisa. She sat across the table from the writer, unable to see her from behind the screen of the laptop. Beehive tilting dangerously, boa discarded over the back of the chair, and her feet tucked into a pair of ratty bedroom slippers, the muse was a sad sight.

_Guess that I am going to have tell Harry and the girls that this one beat me. Can't help the ones that don't believe._

She sighed and started looking through her bag. "Doggone it! Where is it? Can't go back without the identification. You know airport security is getting bad when a muse as gorgeous as me can't get through without ID."

She almost didn't see the pen flying right at her and barely had enough time to move before it was followed by a pencil.

Angry, she turned to the writer.

"Now's no time for a snit fit, missy. I tried to help…" Seeing the writer, head in her hands in frustration, the muse dropped her head and sighed.

_The things I do for these writers. _

_"_Okay, prissy-britches, let's give this one last shot."

Standing behind the writer, Francine Louisa placed her hands on the woman's shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Hey, Temperance. This is Franc—This is Frankie Lou. I know you don't want to admit I'm here…but you are plain stuck with me, girlfriend. So, let's get this thing written, 'kay?"

"Now what do we have so far?" She leaned over to peer at the screen and found a single word.

"Booth. Now there's the problem, sweet pea. You've got a bad case of Booth on the brain. Not that I blame you, who wouldn't want that kind of writer's block. That man is pure, Grade-A yummy. Let's just see if we can channel that a bit…."

Frankie Lou closed her eyes, willing the words to her charge. As the writer remained unmoved, one bright green eye peeked open. The writer was still staring at the screen. Frankie started to despair, was just starting to wonder if a muse could lose her union card over this, when she heard the sweetest sound a muse ever heard. The sound of fingers tapping against a keyboard.

Slipping out of her slippers, she put her bare feet on the floor and wiggled her toes.

_Yep, Frankie Lou, you still got it, princess. Not that there was ever a doubt…_

And with that, the muse leaned back against the table's edge and continued to provide her writer with a story.


End file.
